Spock's Night Out
by BlackMaru
Summary: What happens when one determined Captain takes Spock out for a night on shore leave?  With no memory the morning after, Spock is looking for answers as to what exactly happened.  The crew joins in on the mad quest to find out!  K/S
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is my first ever fanfic, so please be gentle. Reviewing is awesome sauce and will help me write! Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry I am just playing with the characters.

To my two fellow special fanfic authors, you know who you are, thanks for all the encouragement.

Spock slowly drifted into consciousness, doing an automatic systems check on his body and mental facilities. Spock let out a particularly heavy exhale that on any other being would be a groan.

"Lights on Low," Spock murmured to his room's computer. Besides his obvious pounding headache, he had multiple scratches and other superficial marks around his torso and arms. There was also a peculiar burning sensation on his upper right arm. It would appear, as Spock thought rising from the bed, that there had been some sort of incident. His brow furrowed as he struggled to set the events of the previous night into logical order.

It had started with an invitation, one that in the past he had usually declined, but for some reason he accepted. The reason for the different outcome was, of course, due to the Captain. Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise had often protested Spock's refusal to join members of the crew on their planet side festivities. And if there was one thing to know about Captain James Tiberius Kirk, it was that 'No' wasn't a part of his vocabulary. So Captain Kirk planned and prepared for the next shore leave. Therefore Spock was expecting Kirk's new argument when Captain Kirk called for a private meeting just before shore leave.

Kirk had commandeered the rec room and invited Spock in for a conference 'concerning the crew's interaction balance and overall morale'. For nearly 30 minutes the good Captain laid out his case. Kirk had constructed a logical objection to Spock's refusal, which included charts, statistics and a particularly poor drawing of Spock intermingling with Enterprise's crew. When Spock mentioned quality of the drawing, the Captain merely grinned and said he needed to see the 'real deal' for inspiration.

"The subject matter doesn't concern me. I was simply speculating as to why you chose to use crayons as the medium to work with." Spock paused, "And where did you find the crayons? They aren't listed in the Enterprises' inventory."

The Captain's grin widened into a full blown smirk. "The answer, my dear first officer, should come running down the corridor any second…"

Spock turned his head at the sound of running boots, his eyebrow rising at his Captain's uncanny knack of knowing Dr. McCoy's location. Then again, Spock could always tell when the good doctor was tracking down the Captain, as McCoy was particularly vocal when displeased. And it seemed he was almost always displeased with the Captain over some point or another. However there were certain times when McCoy was more vocal than he normally was. Spock was not overly fond of the noise and of the nonsense the good doctor began spouting when disturbed. McCoy was a man of loud opinions, mostly Spock deemed flawed and illogical. It was a point of friction between the doctor and himself. The sound of approaching boots grew louder and with it, he could discern what McCoy was saying.

"Goddamnit Jim! Where in the hell are you so I can wring your neck?" McCoy thundered as he ran down the hall. Spock sighed at the sheer idiocy of McCoy's proclamation.

The Captain laughed and ducked behind Spock. "I recommend another hiding place, Captain. I do believe the doctor will be able to see you." Captain Kirk poked him in the side before saying, "That's not the point, Spock."

Spock opened his mouth to ask for clarification when the Enterprise's chief medical officer stormed into the room. "Jim, you yella bellied coward, I see you! Don't think I don't! You took them didn't you?"

"Took what?" Captain Kirk asked innocently peeping around Spock's shoulder.

"Don't play that with me Jim!" McCoy raged, "I know you took it, I see you used 'em too!" He motioned to the ill-drawn portrait of Spock holding hands with his fellow officers.

"You mean to say Doctor, that the Captain stole your set of crayons?"

McCoy sputtered, "They ain't MY crayons exactly. They were a gift!" Spock pondered a moment as McCoy fished out the hypo he had stashed in his bag. He began stalking towards Spock and Kirk, a wicked gleam in his eye as he focused his gaze on Kirk's neck.

"Captain, did you take Dr. McCoy's crayons?" Spock asked, craning his head sideways to look at Kirk. McCoy cast a wary glance at Spock and paused briefly, readjusting his grip on his hypo.

"I figured I could use them a bit and then replace him and he would never notice?" Spock made a harrumphing noise in his throat. "Guess not, huh?"

As McCoy lunged to grab Kirk, the captain darted around Spock's other side and made a wild dash down to the door and out to the hallway. McCoy took off behind him screaming out a list of threats, "Jimmy, come back here this minute or I am going to-" Spock sighed as the door closed.

If only the Captain was as enthusiastic about his paperwork. He turned to ponder the presentation. Aside from the drawing, the Captain did make a few valid points.

The Enterprise had docked at San Francisco for a few supplies and maintenance. As best as Spock could tell, the moral of the crew was one of pent up excitement. The crew was also to submit paperwork on their last mission, which went quite smoothly. However, they had been harried to finish at breakneck speed and a sense of exhaustion prevailed the crew. Spock understood that the need to 'unwind' and to 'kick one's feet back' was nescessary to maintain a healthy functioning crew.

Spock peered at one graph in particular. He had not factored into consideration on how the crew vicariously took relaxation through commanding officers. Spock shifted through a survey regarding crew members opinions of their superior officers. Shaking his head at the phrasing of some of the questions, (Why ya think the officers should hang with the ensigns? What ya think the officers do for fun? What do you think they SHOULD do to lighten up?) he nonetheless found some of the answers to be very surprising. He hadn't realized the many of his fellow Starfleet crew thought he didn't care to know them or that the officers should unwind with the rest. He had made it a point to memorize every crewmembers name and essential information that was recorded in Starfleet's database.

Sighing, Spock set the information down. Working in close contact with emotional humans was sometimes draining. For instance, although Spock hailed their last mission a sound success, the Captain had frequently called it boring. _Then again,_ Spock mused as he exited the rec room, _the Captain thrives on adventure and excitement._ If there was one thing the Captain was good at, it was thinking on his feet. It was one of many starling traits that Spock uncovered during the ten-month voyage to the new Vulcan colony. They had been playing escort to various ships with cargo and had more downtime than normal. It was during trip that Spock and Kirk managed not only to settle past discrepancies but also become friends. And the reason, Spock thought with some irony, was one of the only relaxation activities that he 'unwound' too. It was here the Captain made his most convincing point as it was the beginning of his own friendship with the Captain. The reason for their budding friendship was greatly due to chess.

FLASHBACK TIME!

After the events with Nero, it was quite a while before Spock and Kirk could stand each other's presence. Spock had often recalled his future self's words with more than a little degree of skepticism. Kirk, when he had a trying day debating Spock, muttered that the old dude was senile and wack. It was during a chess match with Ensign Chekov, one that they had been playing in the corner of the rec room, which Captain Kirk first spoke to Spock of matters other than work.

"He might look innocent and cute, Mr. Spock, but I do believe that Pavel just took your queen." Captain Kirk had said, not bothering to look up from his PADD.

"Captain, perhaps you should refrain from making comments about a game that in which you are neither the player nor the judge." Spock calmly replied, moving his rook in a calculated defense of his queen.

"Suit yourself, Spock, but you just lost." Kirk shrugged, tapping his PADD and frowning at the screen. Spock looked at the board, tilting his head to the side. "Captain, I fail to see how I lost this game, clearly you are in the wrong."

"Perhaps the Keptain is thinking of another game, I too don't see how I vuold vin this game." Sighing, Kirk rose from the couch and sauntered over to the duo.

"And if you are wrong, Mr. Spock? Care to make a bet on it?" Kirk said before turning to Chekov, "I might not know everything, wonderkid, but I know what chess is. Let me finish playing Mr. Spock and I will teach you how to win."

Not only did Kirk take Spock's queen but to the amazement of both Spock and Chekov, he also won the entire game. Spock wasn't pleased to be defeated, especially at the seemingly careless hand of a lucky bystander. "Captain, you are completely reckless, unpredictable and seem to have no strategy or logical patterns. Your win is illogical."

"Yup and I just whooped your Vulcan ass." Kirk said as he began to put away the pieces. Slightly stunned, Spock reached out and plucked his fallen queen from Kirk's pile of captured pieces. "I think, Captain, I would like a rematch."

Kirk paused, "You want me to whoop your ass again Spock? A little masochistic aren't ya?"

Spock stiffened slightly. "I believe that your victory was a fluke. I would like another match to prove my theory."

Captain Kirk laughed, "Alright Spock, but," he said as he set the pawn he was putting away in Spock's hand, "you have to set the board."

To Spock's growing amazement and frustration, Kirk's victory wasn't a fluke. Kirk was an inventive, impulsive and brilliant strategist at chess and when Spock lost again he automatically began setting the pieces up for another game. Kirk grinned. "Really Commander, do you like losing that much?"

Spock hesitated, holding a black pawn between his fingers, "It isn't about losing or winning Captain, and I have never encountered someone with your unique style of chess playing. I would like to play you again to see if my skills at chess can match and potentially surpass yours. I believe that they can."

Kirk smirked. "So you are basically saying I got mad skills huh? And you want to see if you can beat me." Spock frowned as Kirk plucked the black pawn from his fingers and placed it in the box. "Well ok, I am down for playing again but not right at the moment. I got a hot date with McCoy and some whiskey. He lost a bet about an incoming nurse…" Kirk suddenly grinned at Spock. "Speaking of bets, you lost yours! I beat you twice! I totally won the bet."

Spock closed his eyes in exasperation. "Since I did not wager anything Captain, there was no bet."

"Just what every loser says. " Kirk replied tossing another piece into the box, "You totally lost, twice, and I won. And what do I win…." Kirk paused from cleaning up and grinned down at his PADD, "but a get out of free paperwork for a day pass! I will send you the files and stuff later."

Spock felt a headache coming on. "Captain, there is a valid reason for such paperwork, it is standard produce and protocol…."

"blah blah blah, I know Spock, but you lost so no whining." Kirk interrupted. "Clean up the rest for me? I got to go, meet me here same time tomorrow for another game?"

Sighing, Spock watched Captain Kirk walk whistling out of the room. Chekov and a few other members of the crew watched awed as Kirk exited. Spock ignored the gawking crew and decided to set up the board instead of putting it away. Spock did not like losing. As he arranged the pieces on the board, his mouth twitched into a determined line, he would be prepared for the next game.

One game led to another and another. Sometimes Kirk won, sometimes Spock did. It didn't take long for Spock to begin to look forward to their nightly chess matches. During play they began conversation on a variety of subjects. Despite his sometimes devil may care slacker attitude, Kirk was surprisingly thoughtful and had an uncanny insight that Spock came to respect. When their nights were interrupted due to pressing duties or other such events Spock found himself feeling disappointed.

When he mentioned that to McCoy he snorted, "Jesus, of course your disappointed, but you're not getting sympathy from me, no way. Think how I feel when Jimmy blows me off because one of your little games is dragging on and he wants to finish it. It plan sucks when a friend has to cancel, but at lest Jim is during it because of work." He scowled at Spock, "And not because of some stupid board game."

Spock came to a starling revelation as Bones began to rant and rave about 'his Jimmy' leaving him for some 'hob goblin and a sexy nurse'. The Captain was his friend. Fascinating.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Ok so this a super super short chapter. I actually have quite a bit written but am just getting it typed bit by bit. Thank you for all who reviewed! And thanks for all who favorited my story! Reviews are awesome! *collects warm fuzzies* I really hope you enjoy this next bit. Bones is far to much fun to write. Sorry if it seems a little disjointed, I am new at finding end points for chapters! As usually, its Gene Roddenberry's not mine, but I am playing with the characters for a bit.

This chapter is for my very special friend. There you go a whole chapter dedicated just for you.

Coming out of his reverie, Spock began to clean up the rec room. McCoy could chase the Captain for potentially hours and Spock was sure someone would like to use the rec room in the meantime. And, as Spock folded the extremely poor picture away, he particularly did not want anyone to see the childish rendering of his person. The crew was notorious about their so-called 'pranking' and Spock did not care to be the newest joke on board. He harbored serious doubts about that evening, and while finishing cleaning, he logically listed the pro's and con's of participating. However the pro's really were far to reasonable to make a logical case against going.

Firmly setting aside his reservations at attending, Spock left the rec room and made his way down to Kirk's personal quarters. It was the most logical place for Kirk to hide from McCoy. Frowning he changed direction. If it were the most logical place, then of course, Kirk would not be there. This was the Captain.

He went instead to engineering. He walked in and heard laughter coming from behind a machine. Skirting around the edge he found his Captain and Mr. Scott, the chief engineer, snickering to each other over a bottle of Kentucky's best whiskey. Spock felt ridiculously pleased that he was able to find the Captain so fast. Clearly this was a sign of progressing friendship. He cleared his throat and both of the men jumped.

"Jesus Spock, would ya give a man some warning now?" Scotty said, his hand over his chest, " Thought I was gonna have me a heart attack, I did."

"My apologizes for startling you Mr. Scott." Spock inclined his head toward the sitting engineer before he turned his gaze to a still snickering Kirk. "Did you return Doctor McCoy's crayons, Captain?"

"Umm yes, I did. I, er, traded them. Sorta." Spock cocked his eyebrow at Kirk and the bottle of whiskey he was cradling. "Yeah. Traded."

"I will remind you that Doctor McCoy will not be pleased that his favorite bottle of whiskey is being consumed without his presence. Perhaps you should endeavor to buy a replacement. Both of the alcohol and of the crayons."

"Awww, Spock. We were just teasing Bones a bit."

Spock simply raised his eyebrow further. Kirk let out a sigh, "Fine whatever, sure."

"And Captain," Spock began as he heard the door to the engineer room open, "I wanted to inform you that I will be attending tonight's shore leave festivities."

Scotty stared slack jawed at Spock while Kirk let out a war whoop. "Hot damn! Spock this gonna be some serious fun! It was because of the drawing wasn't it? Totally worth stealing the crayons!" Kirk crowed.

Spock bowed slightly and turned to leave as Bones flew around the corner armed with hypo sprays. Kirk and Scotty scrambled to escape Bones as he began screeching, "God DAMNIT JIM! MY BEST BOTTLE! You thought leaving my crayons, MY CRAYONS, in place of my BEST GODDAMN BOTTLE OF WHSIKEY was a good idea?"

Laughing Kirk tried to dodge the furious Bones and failed. "I'll get you a new one, guess what Bones? Spock is gonna drink with us tonight!" Kirk said as Bones grabbed his shirt, stopping his escape. "Seriously Spock is coming!"

"Your lies won't distract me!" Bones cried, pinning Kirk up against the wall, "Not this time Jim!" Bones' voice cracked a bit, "My best bottle…."

"Doctor McCoy, I am indeed attending tonight's outing." Spock said to the furious doctor, "The Captian was not lying." Bones stared in disbelief at Spock.

"Bullshit."

Spock frowned, "It is not a jest, Doctor. Captain Kirk spent much time convincing me that it would improve my relations with my fellow crew members. I confess, since I do not regularly consume aloholic beveges, I have some serious reservations. I hope to count on your support and even guidance in tonight's activites."

"Bullshit," McCoy repeated, with a little more wonder and less outrage. Scotty's head peeked around the edge of the machine to watch the exchange.

"I am sure the Captain is most sincere in his apologies concerning your whiskey and crayons. However we should endevor to ready the crew for shore leave. I am positive that the Captain will replace your damaged goods. Right Captain?" Spock glared at the grinning Kirk.

"Yeah, sure thing Bones. I will get you new crayons, better ones. You know, some with sparkles in them. Girls love sparkles. And yeah, a new bottle even."

"Bullshit." Bones repeated, but his heart wasn't in it. "You are really coming tonight?"

"Affirmative Doctor McCoy."

Bones let go of Kirk, "Well, I never thought I would see the day." He began grinning along with Kirk, "So you don't do much drinking huh Spock?" Scotty, seeing that the potential blood bath was postponed, joined Kirk and Bones in grinning.

"Well, this is gonna be heaps fun, then isn't it now, gents?" Scotty said walking up to them, "Oh, aye, heaps of fun."

Spock began to feel uneasy at the grins plastered on the three men facing him. He began to feel that he might have gotten in over his head.

Spock remembered that unease clearly. Perhaps, wincing when one of the deeper lacerations smarted as he stood, he should have listened to his so called 'gut feeling'.

_How illogical of me_, Spock thought as he made his way to the shower, _perhaps it means that my human urges are becoming more frequent._ As Spock gingerly stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on, he glanced at the mirror and almost tripped over his discarded uniformed. There was something on his arm.

His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock for a moment. There was a _picture _on his arm. 'Lights completely on,' Spock said as he moved closer to the mirror. It was a picture of a heart. _The human term is tattoo_, his rational self quipped as he focused on the drawing. There inside the heart was a word. _Oh Dear God. _ Something akin to panic was racing through Spock as he comprehended the magnitude of what he was seeing. The word was CAPTAIN.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I will try to update as much as I can- however I just moved to another country and have a brand spanking new job. Thus it makes updating difficult. I do work on the story daily, so trust me, I don't plan on abandoning it anytime soon. As always, the lovely characters aren't mine, I am playing with them for a bit. Please, please, please review, as any comments, suggestions, and critics are, of course, welcome. No flames and do try to be gentle, this is my first. Many thanks to those who have reviewed. Don't worry, I don't have many flashback scenes planed.

Spock went through the motions of his morning routine far more stiffly than he ever had before. Ignoring his discovery, he took out his uniform and other necessities to maintain his appearance. Bypassing the shower completely, he woodenly groomed and dressed himself before opening his medicine kit. He carefully treated his lesser scratches and spread ointment on his….his….deformity on his arm.

He felt his eye twitch. His carefully constructed calm would crack if he didn't mediate soon. Covering his tender skin with a bandage he settled into his meditation position.

After thirty minutes of deep breathing he began to set last night's events into logical order. He remembered disembarking from the Enterprise. He remembered the first bar, The Orbit, and drinking several rounds of shots to honor the success of the mission. After that…after that Spock's memory became somewhat hazy. He vaguely remembered leaving The Orbit, and going to…Stars? Stars? Hmmm. Spock gritted his teeth in frustration. Something about Stars. He gave Doctor McCoy something important. He remembered swaying. Laughter. A brush of cool skin running over his burning chest.

Spock's mouth went dry. Someone touched him? And he….he let them? Yes, he thought, yes, and furthermore he enjoyed it. Gasping with shock, Spock opened his eyes. Even when meditating, his mind could not recall last night accurately. It was a jumble of dizzy lights and twirling bodies; of feeling, for the first time, completely without control. Spock was appalled and beyond mortification at his utter lack of restraint. What exactly did he do last night? What, who, and how did it lead to the tattoo? These questions and more swirled in his brain as he tried to dig for answers.

Spock came out of his meditation more agitated than before he went into it, but he did achieve some small measure success. He could remember some of the people who were with him. And, as he opened the door and strode down the hall, he would start with the one who could potentially provide the best memory on what happened. He made his way to the engineering room.

When Spock arrived, Scotty was tinkering with a metal box. It was only after entering that Spock noticed Scotty's attire. Or lack there of. He coughed to gain Scotty's attention. "Good morning to ya, Mr. Spock, what can I do for ya?"

Gesturing at engineer's appearance, Spock coughed again. "Mr. Scott, perhaps now is not the most ideal time to speak to you… Shall I wait outside while you dress?"

Scotty, clad only in boxers and a greased stained tank top shrugged. "Nah Commander. This what I always wear on leave. 'Sides, I sent all ma' work clothes to the laundry. This being the only time to get 'em all washed you know. Poor wee things need a bit of a break." As he said that the tiny box emitted a stream of a black-oil like substance. It dripped on his shirt and spread to his boxers. Scotty chuckled. "See what I mean."

Swallowing, Spock murmured an "Of course, how logical." He was stalling slightly for time, as he thought of how to best approach asking Scotty about last night.

Scotty set the box down and glanced at the brooding Vulcan. Sighing, Scotty said, "Ya came to see me about last night then. It was mad heaps fun. But I doubt you remember it all, right Commander?"

Spock was momentary speechless. Scotty had found the heart of the matter, his memory loss, with ease. How many other crewmembers would accurately guess that Spock had no memory of last night's events? How many knew of his tattoo? The thought deeply troubled him.

Scotty waved his hand airily, "Memory loss is common enough, Commander, and see you don't drink much, yer tolerance is low." He chuckled and grabbed another tool, "betcha had a massive headache, eh?"

"Your assumption is indeed correct, Mr. Scott. However I do not suffer from an excessive headache. As to what I remember and do not; I do not recollect anything after going to the establishment called The Orbit."

Scotty whistled. "Mr. Spock, we left there at 10. PM. We went to at least 5 more bars after that."

Spock began to feel panic crawl along his spine. "Five more? Are you positive?" What did he do during all that time? Anything worse than the tattoo?

"At least five. We went to the bars Otherside, City Underneath, Matador, Jump Drive and Second Star. It was outside of Second Star that you got that." Scotty motioned to Spock's arm. Spock went pale. "But I bet you don't remember that either. Pity that. Was one of the highlights from last night." Scotty cracked a grin. "One of the many highlights."

"Did it not occur to you that perhaps I was not in my right mind and logic when I was obtaining…"Spock gestured to his hidden tattoo almost angrily. He took a deep breath to help him regain his calm. Scotty nodded and turned to his workstation, fingering the box.

"Don't sound so defensive. Oh, aye, we tried to stop you and all, but you wouldn't have it." Scotty told Spock as he sorted the various tools at the workstation. Grunting at finding what he wanted, he turned to face Spock.

"Look here commander, we even tried to, you know, subdue you," he motioned at a few of the scratches on Spocks' clothed arms, "but nah, you marched right up there to tha' man and says 'Evening skin artist, I would be interested in issuing a commission.' Then ye plunked your arse down and told him you wanted it ta read Captain." Scotty chuckled and lifted his sleeve to expose his right arm. "I 'ave ya know ya inspired me, Mr. Spock."

Gazing down, Spock's eyebrow rose at the similar tattoo on the engineer's arm. It matched his exactly except for inside the heart on the flowing parchment read, instead of Captain, Enterprise. Spock let out a small cough but managed to say, "Quite appropriate then Scotty."

"Aye, I know it. Not only be it the perfect thing shown' respect to her," Scotty said beaming about the engine room, ignoring Spock's floored expression, "But its forever."

Spock remained silent, hoping for further explanation from the engineer. When Scotty began to dissemble the leaking box, Spock knew it was up to him to continue the conversation. "Scotty, would you care to elaborate on your last sentence? Nothing is, point of fact, forever."

Scotty focused on Spock once again, setting his box on the workspace. He began to twirl his tool between his fingers, gazing at the flashing metal, and reluctantly repeated himself. "I said its forever, Mr. Spock and, aye, it was your brilliant idea, but then, I suppose you don't quite remember it. You insisted in inserting something called Genticoluse. Said it make it an eternal homage or somemat." Scotty shifted his gaze to Spock. At the sight of Spock's rapidly paling face he dropped his tool.

"Mr. Spock, you ok? You look like you need to sit down or something." Scotty ushered the pale Vulcan to the workbench. Handling broken machines was what he was good at, he thought grumpily, he had no idea how to handle an emotional Vulcan. _Hell_, Scotty thought with some amusement, _I don't think anyone has ever seen an emotional Vulcan._

After getting him a glass of water, Scotty turned away from Spock and picked up the neglected box. Seeing as Spock was done for a while with conversation, Scotty turned to his tinkering. He figured that Spock's brainbox was cooking up a storm and didn't need to be interrupted. 'Sides, this tri-neon electric bumper needed to be fixed before they left planet side and Scotty wanted to be off the ground as soon as possible. His Enterprise was loveliest in space.

Spock silently watched Scotty from the bench, but his mind was racing. _Genticoluse, how utterly logical I was. It seemed at the time of the event I felt that it wouldn't be worth the trouble unless I made it permanent._ Spock felt the urge to break something in his frustration. Glancing at the cup of water in his hand, Spock decided it would be best to set the glass on the bench.

Spock continued to think. Ignoring Scotty, who had been shooting him glances from his work area, he pondered the possible ways at eliminating his skin deformity. Genticoluse, a relativity new chemical, imprinted not only on the skin but on the memory of skin cells. Even if the design were removed, a tattoo drawn with Genticoluse would continually regenerate the design. Documented cases had been shown that the image on the skin could potentially, if removed and aggravated enough, even grow. A sudden thought shot through his mind like lightening.

"Mr. Scott, did you have your tattoo done with Genticoluse as well?"

Scotty frowned as he thought, softly stroking a piece of metal. "I did, however for everyone else, I don't rightly know," he finally answered, "maybe, perhaps Chekov would know more details about the actual event."

Everyone else? "Did everyone else in our party decide to aquire a tattoo as well?" Spock asked. Scotty furrowed his forehead, "Ya know Commander, I know you got one. That Chekov and Sulu also got one. I am more certain than not that Uhura and Bones also did the deed. As for the Captain, you really might need to ask the wee Chekov."

Spock relaxed at the mention of a lead and then quirked an eyebrow as Scotty grinned sheepishly. "I, uh, went after you, ya see," motioning to his tattoo. "After my turn Chekov pushed Sulu into the chair. Things get a bit fuzzy, but it seemed that Chekov didn't get overly sauced. He might, uh know more." Suddenly anxious, Scotty rounded on Spock, "Now uh, don't be telling anyone anything, like he won or nothing, cause he didn't, not really. A Scot can hold his liquor better than any other man. I never did throw up!"

Spock's eyebrow rose a notch and Scotty continued on. "Ya know the bet! You were in on it too. Whoever could hold off on getting shot to the moon the longest won. Winner gets an extra shift for 'recreation purposes'." Spock nodded before confirming the origins of the bet. "The Captain proposed this, did he not?"

At Scotty's nod of confirmation, Spock sighed. He regarded the engineer for a moment, "As last night was my first time engaging with alcoholic beverages, I could not, then, logically judge another man's ability to 'hold your own' as you say. Also I can not clearly recollect the bet to which you are referring, thus again, I can not be of service to judge the nature of who got 'shot to the moon' first or not."

Scotty grinned at the seated Vulcan. "Well said, Mr. Spock, and may I say, I have never had such an amazing romp! And after The Orbit it was just the seven of us; lands man, that was heaps fun. And trust me Spock, compared to Sulu, you did great! Honest, you at least could pretend you weren't smashed out of your mind. I didn't think I ever saw someone get spent so fast." Although Spock would call the events and their after-effects anything but 'heaps fun' he found himself inclining his head in mutual agreement. Although greatly alarmed at his behavior and memory loss, from what he could remember he had enjoyed himself. And he did indeed remember, in his scattered and fragmented memories of last night, Sulu succumbing to the affects of alcohol before himself.

Although camaraderie was not something he actively sought (as the Captain was wont to point out) he was rather enjoying this unusual bonding with Scotty. He had a quite illogical feeling of affection towards and from Mr. Scott. The Captain had often referred to that as 'warm fuzzies' and had, on more than one occasion, discussed the feeling to a disbelieving Spock. 'Warm fuzzies' were utterly illogical and Spock had never really believed in that sensation until this very moment. Usually, he felt uncomfortable intermingling socially with his fellow officers. It was, he reflected, one of the most convincing reasons Kirk wheedled on during his presentation.

This was the first time, without the presence of Kirk, that he felt a sense of solidarity with Mr. Scott. It was, despite the circumstances, refreshing. Scotty, sensing Spock's shift in mood began to regale Spock with some details of the evening, wisely focusing on Sulu and his hilarious antics.

Scotty was in the middle of describing Sulu's failed attempt at karaoke when Spock stood up. "Oh now, now, Mr. Spock, I haven't even told ya how Sulu used Uhura's wee pink spiky shoe as a mic, and what she did ta him when she found her shoe gone. The man couldn't even sing proper, all o' his ballads were off key and made no sense at all, not that everyone really cared, well except for Uhura. Sulu did things to that shoe—"

"As entertaining as listening to you recount Sulu's antics with a shoe is, I must talk to Ensign Chekov before the rest of the crew begins to return to work." Spock interrupted, somewhat regrettably, "As much as I would delight in hearing what Mr. Sulu did exactly with the shoe, it must wait until another time."

Frowning Scotty waved Spock out the door. He hadn't even begun to talk about the crazy happenings last night, nor the most important events. Turning back to his dissembled box, Scotty figured they really weren't his secrets to tell anyhow. Pity that, what he wouldn't give to see Spock's face at the news at all of the drunken exploits.

He would be lying if he weren't looking forward to seeing some of the people's reactions to what happened. Some of the stuff they did weren't, well, the smartest stuff they had ever done. Hell, he wasn't even sure what he had done after Second Star himself. When he woke up this morning, Scotty found some mysterious stains on his shirt, pants and oddly enough, his socks.

The sparkly, multi-colored stains and patches of oil tugged at a memory locked in the formable Scotsman's brain, although Scotty really didn't give a damn if he remembered it or not. He prided himself on being a laid-back, devil-may-care kind of man; it was a way of living, a style that the Captain was also familiar with. Scotty cracked a grin and chuckled. Oh, aye, the Captain.

Watching Scotty mutter and chuckle over his tools, Spock felt his mouth twitch a bit with sudden good humor at the realization that he had indeed achieved the intended goal for attending last night's outing. Granted, it was in a way he did not foresee nor completely enjoy, yet it had been achieved. Over the mutual lack of inhibitions. He would have never speculated that the loss of control over one's actions would be the point of solidarity.

Mulling over the irony, Spock bid the chief engineer adieu and left him to his gadgets. Standing in the ship's corridor for a moment, Spock turned his mind to the resident Russian genius. His next logical step was to ask for more details of the events.

As he began walking, his shirt brushed across the bandage on his arm and just as suddenly as his amusement at the irony of the situation appeared, it faded. Spock hastened his steps as he headed for the conn. There was an 87.9% chance that Chekov would be there.

Post A/N: So please review! What do you think Chekov remembers? What do you think Sulu and Chekov's tattoos say? And Uhura and Bones? What highlights of the night should there be? Until the next update!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you so so so so much for reviewing! I swear, sometimes its the only thing that gets me through my work day. I am still adjusting to a lot of things, so please forgive my somewhat erratic postings. I update as soon as I finish a section and the length varies. Again, please review-I want to know how I am doing and what I can do to make the story better. This is my first, so I know I have room to improve! Star Trek does not belong to me-etc etc, you know the drill!

[As Spock made his way to the Conn, elsewhere on the _Enterprise _one hung over individual began to stir]

Hikaru Sulu was a man who excelled at many things and drinking was not one of them. No, not one of them at all. He never could hold his liquor well and waking up in one's own vomit is never a pleasurable experience.

Besides that, he did tended to do stupid things when intoxicated. His friends had taken vids to prove it and through sheer brute force he got most of them deleted. Although he did have a sneaky suspicion that more than one escaped his morning-after vid hunts and of course, nothing could quell the rumors.

Another lovely side-affect he had, along with stupid behavior and a tendency to end up in the bathroom, was memory loss. So when he drank too much, he could not recall his idiotic endeavors nor remember why he did them. For instance, once after a night of drinking during his Starfleet academy days, he woke up with a rubber chicken strapped to his back and several rubber ducks super glued to his chest in a cross shaped pattern.

From what he could gather, and this was sheer speculation on his part, he wanted to walk on water and through the power of holy ducks he believed he could do that. He never could figure out the reason for the chicken on his back. His friends, after heavy questioning, were clueless as to where he got the plastic birds and what his purpose for doing that at a nurse's birthday bash was.

Finding the fine line between mildly buzzed and totally smashed was one he chanced to tread every time he went out. After a few trial and errors, he got to the point where he could manage to enjoy himself and look like he was drinking like everyone else.

However it was a point of tension that he never really could shake and when he heard that Spock was joining them for a night out, he was much more thrilled than any of his fellow crewmates. Since Spock was a logical individual and did not drink, it would follow that Spock would be cautious and Sulu could set himself to Spock's drinking pace. For once, he wouldn't have to worry about counting drinks and could finally relax a bit around his colleagues.

It was a great plan; sound, logical and was sure to work. Until the Captain arrived. And after five toasts of tumblers full of Chekov's favorite vodka, Sulu could hardly remember his name, let alone his plan.

So, when Sulu's brain began rebooting itself as he struggled to wake up, the first thing that flitted through his head was that he probably did something stupid. Again.

Growling at the blurry memory of failed ambitions, Sulu cracked an eye open to glare in the general direction of where his clock was. If he were on his bed he would have found it right away. As it was, Sulu was curled up on his couch under an assortment of odd clothes. After a minute or two of effort to focus and finding his clock he managed to read it. 10:47AM. Sulu let out a curse and threw off the clothes, ignoring his buzzing head and aching body.

He was late. Granted they were docked and they really didn't have to be on duty, but he was never late. It was something he was rather proud about. Hikaru Sulu was a proud man and, as he braced himself for the great task of becoming vertical, his pride could often overrule his normally sound judgment.

As he struggled to the bathroom, trampling over discarded clothes, a sudden bout of dizziness caused his knees to buckle. Startled, he careened into the wall, his shoulder and arm taking the brunt of the fall. Pain radiated from his arm as he tried to gain his balance. _It was that last toast, _he thought balefully, grimacing against the pain, _Or at least the last one I remember. Damn Russian for all of his 'helpful' suggestions for things to toast about. _

The only real memories he had of last night were the beginning drinks and the toasting. It was a matter of pride and honor for Sulu to drink a toast along side his comrades, despite his lack of tolerance to alcohol in any form. One or two toasts he could handle. But last night, Chekov was in rare toast proposing form.

No matter that Chekov shouted silly reasons to toast to, like 'To Mother Russia's Vodka" and "To Friendship, united by Mother Russia's Vodka" and "To Mother Russia's greatest invention, Vodka", everyone raised their glasses and threw back a shot. Why had the Captain let the little Russian lead the toasting in the first place, he hadn't a clue.

Or, Sulu thought darkly, as he hurriedly brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair, perhaps the Captain meant for Chekov to toast exactly like that. Sulu ran a wet cloth over his face before exiting the bathroom. Still brooding, Sulu paused to lean against the wall. Perhaps the Captain wanted us all shot to the moon. Sulu absent-mindedly worked some kinks out of his neck as he tried to puzzle any more details from the previous evening.

The last thing he remembered after his last toast was Chekov laughing. And then Kirk had dragged Spock onto the dance floor. He frowned; there was something important he felt he was forgetting. _Whatever_, he thought dismissively; he would bagger Uhura for answers. She could always be depended on to lay it out straight. And she never got completely smashed. He was more concerned with any vids out there of him last night.

Wincing, he began walking to his closet. No time for a shower although he wanted one. _Perhaps Uhura would be too straight forward_, he thought as he opened a drawer to find it empty. Sighing, he began to search the floor for a clean uniform. His pride had already taken a blow; really, who gets drunk over the toasting drinks?

_Maybe Scotty would be the better choice instead of Uhura_, Sulu thought. The pain in his arm burned and throbbed as he reached down for his rumpled uniform. _Damn it, I am __**so**__ not in the mood for this. _ Sulu's frown deepened as he snagged a tube of mild no-pain spray. He shrugged out of his shirt and twisted his arm to get to the spot that hurt. His froze, finger posed on the nozzle of the tube, and stared immobilized.

The hell was on his arm? Was this some sick nightmare? The spray fell from his hand as he moved to pinch himself. He pinched hard on his thigh. As the pain flared so did his panic. There would be a bruise there tomorrow, but he didn't really care. He was too busy hyperventilating.

_This is not happening_. Yes, he did stupid things when drunk, but this, this was too much. His antics were of lesser, sillier stuff then what lay on his arm. It wasn't real, surely; this thing on his arm was a hallucination. _Yes, yes, _he chided himself, _all in your head, good man; you've been working too hard. Had a real funny drink last night or something. _ He opened his mouth and a high-pitched giggle surged out.

Alarmed, he took several deep breaths. Ok, think like you are in the pilot chair, think logically. Sulu brushed his hand against his arm, touching the thing, the…tattoo, gently. Sulu actually read the words on the flowing parchment and his eyes flashed. He knew exactly where to go to find out more about last night. But before he got carried away, he needed to make sure it was real.

Sulu frowned for a second before he licked his thumb and rubbed the edge of the tattoo on his arm in hopeful circles. He rubbed harder on the tattoo and on pink, sensitive skin that surrounded it. He examined the tattoo closely to see it wore off. The chance that it was fake dwindled with every fruitless swipe of his finger. _Ok, so it is real, time to stop freaking out_ Sulu told himself; he had a lead to follow. His eyes flashed again.

Sulu was good at many things and being able to function under duress was one of his most useful traits. It is critical for an ace pilot to have the ability to rebound. And damn it, Hikaru Sulu was, if nothing else, an ace pilot.

With that he picked up the spray and gave his arm a misting before slipping into a new uniform. He laced his boots, snapped on his watch, and after a moment of contemplation, strapped his fencing sword onto his waist before exiting his room. He turned and headed for the bridge, for once not intending to work. Oh no. He had other plans first. Sulu was going to go kill a certain Russian.

Post A/N: When writing this I have been listening to this song: Beautiful Hangover by Big Bang. Check it out on youtube (I tried to put the link here but it didn't work!) Even if you don't understand the Japanese, I think you might understand why I am listening to this and why its inspiring! I will try to update soon! Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello Everyone! Here is a big (well, big for me!) update! Sorry it took so long, I have been tweaking (I really love the word tweaking, its way too much fun) this for a bit. Sorry if I didn't get everything quite right, and I know I am taking liberties with the characters (Chekov was hard to write!) but I am trying my best! Please review, it makes my day a million-billion times better! Refer to Chapter one- Not mine, just playing disclaimer.

Some Russian notes (gleamed from internet sources so sorry if not quite accurate)

Da= Yes

Mamka= Mother

Batya= Father

Chekov was grinning like mad and it seemed it might be a permanent condition.

He was in such a great mood it had felt that he had woken up with a smile. He shut off his morning alarm with less resentment than normal and as he lay in bed recounting the night's events his smile stretched across his face in delight at the memories. Unlike some, or perhaps all, of his fellow officers, he remembered everything. It was a wonderful perk that he had discovered he possessed; he could hold his liquor perhaps even better than the average Russian and never forget anything.

Although he was still a growing boy, he could hold his own with some of his most esteemed uncles and he took pride in his ability to drink his rowdy cousins under the table. He owed it all to his Mamka and Batya; they instilled in him a great tolerance of all sorts of alcoholic beverages starting when he was in his diapers.

Yes, his beloved Mamka mixed Vodka into his milk when he was young. He always thought it was one of the reasons why he was a genius. Good Russian Vodka. He fingered the bottle he had stashed under his pillow, like he did everyday, giving it a moment of homage before he got up.

What happened last night made him shake with laugher and he tossed off his covers in great spirits. Did they really think they had a chance when he began his toasting? And he had gone easy on them, doing only 6 rounds of shots of 80 proof Vodka. He even let them cut their drinks with a little water. He swung out of bed and leap to his feet, giving his body a good stretch.

He pin-wheeled his arms and pondered the Captain; the reason he got to do the toasts. It had been awfully nice of the Captain to let him be the one to do the toasting. Too nice. As the youngest member on the crew he had never had the chance to lead the drinking but everyone knew that when it came to drinking Chekov was serious. It didn't take a genius, although Chekov was one, to figure out why he got to lead.

The Captain had an ulterior motive. Then again, the Captain always has an ulterior motive. For everything. It must be hard-wired into his DNA.

_Well_, Chekov thought_, it made for a fun night. _He began to whistle as he meandered to the bathroom.

He began his morning routine and broke out into song. Oh his Captain, such a sneaky man! And even though he had been watching for it, he never noticed exactly when and where the Captain disappeared to after the drinking ended. Chekov laughed, tapping his toothbrush on the sink, and thought, '_but dear Captain, you didn't run away before we had our 'special' bonding experience. Not that I am telling secrets, but it is fun to know.' _

Chekov found it was indeed possible to grin and brush teeth at the same time. He pulled out the floss and admired his teeth. Damn, it was good to be Russian.

Although Chekov had gotten in late like the rest of the crew and had drunk all of his fellow ship-mates under the table, he rose before any of them. He had plenty of time to shower, dress, eat a large breakfast and even fill out some paperwork before the majority of the crew began to stir.

It also gave him plenty of time to contemplate and snigger over the various reactions of his fellow crew mates and their recent 'acquirements'. And of course, all of the other events that took place.

He briefly spared a moment for Bones and Uhura and nearly gagged on his breakfast. He stuffed them and their particular interesting acquirements into the recesses of his mind. Chekov might never stop laughing if he began to think about them. Thinking about all of the merriment last night sent him into fits of laughter, which wasn't the best idea when eating. It really was a miracle he managed to eat his meal without choking to death.

As he made his way to the Conn, the few ensigns functioning after last night raised eyebrows and nudged each other at Chekov's uncontrollable snickering. Chekov set up his station and ran a few calculations before whipping out his padd. He could finish his work, what little he had, later on his shift. If he remembered correctly, he had captured some of last night on a vid. Or two. Or twenty.

Chekov began laughing at the vids and they kept him amused until he heard the bridge door open. Slowly he turned around to the approaching steps, not phased a bit at who was striding towards him.

As he suspected it would be, Spock was the first to see him about last night. As Spock came closer, even biting his lip, he couldn't help but grin at the Commander. Oh this was going to be good. His grin widened when Spock seemed to pause in midstride. Oh, da, this will be fun.

As Spock approached the bridge he felt a slight flutter in his stomach. He logically delegated it as after affects from last night's alcoholic consumption. When Spock opened the door to the Conn the sensation intensified. Perhaps a visit to McCoy was a necessary precaution, Spock thought worriedly; perhaps something other than alcohol was affecting his system. Some unknown reaction could be the cause of his sudden bout of…stomach pain. He set aside the very valid concern that he might have indeed consumed something other than alcohol and focused on the act at hand. Logically his next stop would be to Doctor McCoy.

Stepping into the deserted bridge, he quickly located Chekov, who was laughing at something on his padd. Spock began to make his way toward him. Chekov slowly turned at the sound of Spock's approaching footsteps and, when he saw it was Spock, grinned.

Visibly thrown, Spock stride hitched a second and he thought _this can't be a positive indication_. As he continued toward the jovial young man, his stomach quivered forbiddingly.

Spock cleared his throat before addressing the ensign. "Chekov good morning. I trust you are not suffering from any ill effects from last night's outing?" He eyed Chekov critically, "Physically I can detect no distressing conditions."

"No Commander, I am perfectly fine. After the toasting, the drinks weren't Russian vodka so I am fine." Chekov sighed. "And trust me, that makes all the difference in the galaxy."

Spock inclined his head towards Chekov, "Since you are educated in that particular field, I shall have to trust your expert opinion." Chekov shrugged nonchalantly and continued to stare expectantly.

"In fact," Spock began, "It is because of your experience that I find myself in need of your assistance to accurately catalog last night's events."

Chekov didn't bother with fancy words; not when it came to anything concerning alcohol. "You don't remember, do you? Don't worry. Happens to most people. What's the last thing you do remember, Commander?"

"Interesting. Mr. Scott asked the same, exactly phrased question,"

"So you've already seen Scotty, da? Then why ask me?" Chekov quipped, pride slightly stung, "Scotsmen say they can drink, but we all know they can't hold their liquor. Everyone knows that, all swagger no action. Tch, no mind, Commander. I won't tease him too badly."

"I do not favor one Earth nationality over another. In regards to that, Ensign Chekov, I am merely obtaining as many first hand accounts of last night as possible. If you remember the layout of the ship, the engineering room happens to be on the way to the Conn. Mr. Scott was the logical first place to start."

Chekov's grin slipped a bit at Spock's subtle rebuke. "Sorry Commander, that was not quite….I was just teasing a little. I didn't mean to upset anyone. Or imply Scotty was…um… less of a—" Spock intervened as Chekov grappled for words. "Understood Chekov, I am aware that the bantering of old Earth nationalities is quite common. I am also well aware that such bantering exists between yourself and Mr. Scott."

Chekov sighed with relief, Spock understood. Well, sort of. "Ah, da! That's right Commander!"

"I also recall you mentioned something like that last night," Spock continued, attempting to ease Chekov's anxiety. It worked, a little too well. Chekov's smile returned instantly at the mention of last night.

"Ah da! Last night!" Chekov brightening at the subject change. Spock felt his stomach ache return; what exactly made Chekov so happy about the previous evening? "Last night was fun, yes?"

"Unfortunately, I do not recall all of last night's activities."

"Which is why you look for me and Mr. Scotty?" Chekov slyly rubbed a spot on his arm. Spock's mouth tightened when he realized that it was the same location as his tattoo on his own arm. Chekov continued, "We had most excellent party time, it is like fun back in Russia. In fact, you know, I do believe that party is a Russian word?"

Grimacing, Spock asked, "If you wouldn't mind conveying to me what exactly happened, in so far as you remember."

" 'In so far' Commander? I remember everything."

Spock knew there was a reason he was far more anxious with Chekov than Scotty. If Chekov's claim were true, he would know all the details about last night. Which would be exactly what Spock was looking for. And yet….and yet, Spock kept frowning. Spock didn't particularly care for how humorous Chekov viewed last night's events. He felt slightly ridiculous at how disarmed he was becoming over the fact that Chekov might be laughing at him.

_Then again_, Spock thought, his eyebrow twitching hopefully; _there was always the possibility that Chekov's memory was faulty._ "Did you not consume copious amounts of alcoholic beverages?"

Chekov gave Spock a pitying look. "Copious? To some perhaps, but me? Not so much. But to accurately reconstruct your memories tell me what you can remember."

Spock ran the calculations in his head. In order to sustain an alcoholic tolerance that high, factoring in the level of alcohol consumed during the duration of last night combined with the average level of alcohol potency and then with Chekov's age and body— "Unless you consumed .5 liters of alcohol weekly, from the age of seven, with your body's mass, you should have been somehow affected; with memory loss or impaired body movement or loss of ability to reason."

Chekov cocked his head to the side, smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. "My Mamka began giving me vodka laced milk when I was one, once a month, to improve my health. Not a lot, mind, my Mamka would never give so much to harm, but you see, it is tradition." Here Chekov lost his smile and his brown eyes grew serious. "We drink, it is our culture, which is good, good Russians honor it."

Chekov paused, rather disgruntled. "But that is one thing. My memories, my drinking- this is another thing. I handle my liquor well; I understand my limits. So when I say I remember, I remember. Like when you fell into the table and banged your leg there," Chekov pointed to a place on Spock's leg, "it must have hurt. It was a very hard fall. Perhaps there is a bruise?"

Spock inclined his head in confirmation. Satisfied, Chekov repeated his earlier statement, "So, tell me what you can remember. And I will fill you in." Spock sighed, bowing to Chekov's assessment of the accuracy regarding his memories.

"As I said to Mr. Scott, the last place I remember visiting was The Orbit." Spock replied somewhat reluctantly, although he would never admit his hesitancy was based on his embarrassment to the young officer before him. "More specifically, the Captain had just ordered 'another round' for us all and I vaguely remember attempting some dancing."

Chekov snorted. "Attempted? Commander, you did a bit better than attempt." Spock felt the headache that had been pulsing in the background of his mind surge at Chekov's comment. He strained his memory again, searching, fruitlessly, as to what happened.

Nothing but the same results as before and sighing Spock sat down. Chekov didn't notice; he was busy reliving the evening, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"After a particularly noxious round of Crazy Comet Bombs -nasty stuff those, I don't care so much for the sweet drinks, you know, but nothing works faster to shoot you to the stars- you really loosened up! Hmm… not so much as loosening as unwinding. Da, you unwound. You are very good at dancing and did not even trip very much." Spock leaned to one side and moved his fingers to his temples.

Chekov rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned in closer to Spock, lowering his voice even though they were the only two present. "Commander," Chekov began rather hesitantly and with more seriousness than he had displayed all day, "you danced with the Captain."

By sheer strength of will, Spock refused to move a muscle, not even to raise his eyebrow. He nearly missed what else Chekov was saying because he was concentrating so intensely on not showing any emotion. He raised his head as Chekov continued.

"You danced with a few other people, Uhura, Sulu, myself, but mostly with the Captain. The Captain might have been halfway to the stars as well but he didn't dance with anyone. Anyone, not even Uhura. Except for you. He only danced with you. He is good at twisting about, and asking after all the crew but he only really dances with one or two people. I have seen it on many shore leave nights. Always, I am impressed with the Captain. He is good at being sneaky. So good at dodging."

Spock was intensely uncomfortable. He really began to regret coming to the Conn first. He was not sure if he really wanted to finish the conversation, even though he desperately wanted to know what happened. If he was honest with himself, which required acknowledging the presence of emotions, something he point-blank refused to do, he might call what he was experiencing fear, apprehension and perhaps panic.

And because he strove to be logical in all things, he instead recalled work that needed to be done. He began thinking of ways to extract himself from Chekov politely. He didn't want it looking as if he was running away as he was merely busy -yes, even docked Spock was sure to recall something that required his presence. Like attending to the loading of new cargo. If it happened to be very far from the tiny Ensign sitting before him, well that was simply a mere coincidence.

Chekov was not as oblivious at Spock's discomfort as he appeared to be. He sensed Spock's desire to flee, reading the tightness in his mouth and how he shifted his head towards the exit. He stopped talking to watch Spock stand and clasp his hands behind his back. His body already inclined toward the door. Chekov saw Spock's mouth open to bid him farewell and Chekov uttered one word. Just one.

"Tattoo."

Spock sat back down.

Ok, so what do you think? Personally I think Chekov was hard to write (Bones and Kirk are by far the most fun, but don't tell Spock I said that *wink*) so let me know how I did, what ways to improve. Or if I overdid it, let me know too- review! The next part is going to be lots of fun: the confrontation of Sulu and Chekov. Even though this is ultimately about Kirk and Spock, I believe that the other crew members are essential to this plot. So though its not quite M yet, it will be. *smirks* Any guessing about the Captain yet? What his tattoo says? Or what Sulu's says for that matter? Any takers for Chekov?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello and sorry for the delay! RL got all up in my way. This chapter was hard to right because the POV changes between the characters a little, so again, bear with me, I am still working on getting the hang of organization and effect transitions. Shout out to all who reviewed and left comments, I can't thank you enough for your words of encouragement. Every review has a special happy spot in my heart. *throws cookies and rainbows at readers* As always, not mine, refer to disclaimer in chapter one if you really wanna. Now I must get back to work :(

"You came because you wanted to know about the tattoo Commander," Chekov began, touching his own arm, "and I am going to tell you. No more playing. It was the Captain's idea. Most things are, you know. Sneaky Captain." Chekov gave a low chuckle and leaned toward Spock who seemed quite frozen to his chair.

"After the fifth bar, seven of us went down this shop on the pier. The Captain was first. He had wanted one for a while, he said 'Been meaning to do this, I gotta make sure I don't forget it.' Exact words, I remember cause I did not know what he was referring to. He went in the back alone. Then you turned to the man in front. You wanted one too. Right here."

Chekov drew a circle over his upper arm and glanced at Spock before he continued. "And we tried to talk you out of it. Begged you, even, and reasoned with you. Bones and Scotty even tried to stop you. Da, but it didn't matter. It was like you were possessed. And then it didn't matter, and we didn't care, because once you got yours, we all wanted one. Scotty was next. Then Sulu and me. Uhura and Bones did their last, I didn't quite see what they wrote on their hearts but I can guess."

Spock opened his mouth to ask a question but Chekov held up his hand. "Let me finish Commander."

Spock nodded his head and Chekov continued. "I don't know what Scotty or the Captain remember, besides myself they were the most lucid. Although you did a great job at pretending to be coherent." Chekov leaned back in his chair, "Or perhaps you had a moment of clarity. Happens sometimes. Really, you come out of orbit just to add Genticoluse?" Chekov shook his head. "You know we all got it done with it, and we all got the same design, except for the Captain. He went into the back room and I don't know what he got. And he didn't say. Da, and I didn't ask."

Chekov paused before adding, "But he knows everyone else's."

Chekov gave Spock a moment to absorb all of the information. He could practically see the steam puffing from Spock's ears as his mind ground out theory after theory, running calculation after calculation. Chekov wasn't going to tell the distraught Vulcan that the Captain returned from the back room just in time to see Spock finish his tattoo. Or the look in the Captain eyes when he read what Spock had put on his arm. Chekov made many things his business, but this was not for him to mettle in. The Captain had boundaries and Chekov wasn't quite sure what the Captain would do if he interfered or not. Truth be told, Chekov was a little afraid of what Captain Kirk would do when pushed.

Watching Spock's eyes twitch slightly, he nodded to himself. Da, that was best left to the Captain to muddle through. Although, Chekov thought he might be the only one on the ship who noticed. Chekov leaned back in his chair and stared out the window of the docked Enterprise. _Well, perhaps Bones suspects, but Bones knows the Captain best, anyhow._

"May I inquire as to what we did after the event at the pier?" Spock asked, startling Chekov out of his reverie. He focused on Spock once more.

"Why, we went back to the bar. To continue what the Captain so lovingly calls the Pub Crawl. We drank some more then the party, it ended. It was almost 5 am Earth time when we left the bar. After that, I don't know so much. I had to care for Sulu and didn't quite pay attention to everyone else. I took Sulu to his room and I think you went to off to your quarters towing the Captain, but I am not sure. Scotty disappeared and Bones with Uhura also make tracks."

Chekov grinned. "Perhaps you should ask the Captain about his experience next. It would be logical to ask him as he might remember the most." Chekov leaned to the side as the door opened, his grin exploding into a happy giggle.

Spock started at the laugher, and then turned to see Sulu walk into the room. Sulu's calm face and serene movements made Chekov laugh harder. Spock sent both Chekov and Sulu baffled looks; his mind was relieved to work on this new problem. As Spock glanced between both men, he noted that Sulu's eyes began to twitch and his smooth gait became jerky. Something was amiss.

Perhaps Sulu wanted answers as well. Surely that was it. Chekov's amusement did not bode well and Spock sat back to watch Sulu approach.

Although he knew he would pay for it later, Chekov couldn't help laughing at Sulu's arrival. He had been waiting for this all morning. Spock's discomfort was amusing, yes, but it was Sulu, it was always Sulu, he waited for. And the fact that Sulu didn't even flinch at the sound of his snickers only amused him more.

"Good Morning Commander Spock. Got enough sleep? Good. You look well." Sulu continued talking, not caring if Spock answered or not. He also continued walking towards them, and drew his sword from its' sheath. "Now, be so kind as to move out of the way Commander."

Chekov continued to laugh. He sputtered, "Sulu! You are not serious I think! It was just a little joke!"

Sulu lunged at Chekov. Spock, being smart and logical, wisely retreated. He watched, with more than a little amusement, as Sulu chased a winded Chekov around the bridge.

Normally he would intervene but he suspected that Chekov might deserve it. He was, as the Captain would say, letting justice run its course. Spock admitted to himself there was something suspicious about Chekov's amusement. Sulu had most certainly found his tattoo, however Chekov's behavior seemed a bit excessive. There was some underlying factor, besides the tattoo that Sulu found on his arm, that was at work here. Spock watched the two men closely.

"But we match Sulu! Da! It is good sign of friend-ack! You got my shirt! I know you really like Russians Sulu! Do like your tattoo says and be nice to-umph!" Sulu choked at the word tattoo and seemed to lose all restraint. Screaming, Sulu threw himself at Chekov, his sword clattering to the ground forgotten.

"I'll 'Da' you! My body isn't a game you snot-nosed twerp!" Sulu huffed as he wrestled a squirming Chekov around on the floor of the Conn. Spock took a cautious step towards them, and found himself nodding in agreement to Sulu's comment. Sulu, nearly blinded by rage, continued, "My body isn't a joke damn you!"

"But you said you wanted it! And we really do match" Chekov panted as Sulu managed to pin him down. "I got one too! I got one too!"

Sulu punched him. "I don't fucking well care! I have…..Oh everyone will see it! I trusted you! I trusted you with everything, damn it! What will brass think?"

Chekov coughed out, "That you match da Captain, maybe?"

Sulu punched him again. "Oh of course our idiot Captain would do it! It was his idea wasn't it?" Wild-eyed Sulu glanced around the room, "What will they think?"

Chekov tried to twist away, "That you match the rest of the crew?"

Sulu wasn't having any of it and ground down against Chekov's protesting body, "Bull shit. As if-," Sulu's crazed gaze found Spock, "as if SPOCK got one!"

Spock who had been inching closer with intent to intervene, went still. As did Chekov. Sulu, stunned at the sudden lack of resistance, began glancing between the two men. After a few shocked seconds, Sulu's jaw dropped. "Are you shitting me?"

Spock sniffed, "That is a particular human phrase I will never understand." Dismissing them both and not bothering to answer Sulu's implied question, Spock vacated the room.

Chekov, battered and bleeding, began to laugh uncontrollably. Sulu, still perched onto of a shaking Chekov, watched silently, mouth still hanging open as Spock left the room.

Sulu turned to glare down at Chekov. "Ok, fill me in-did what just happened really happen? You saying we all got tattoos for real?"

Out-of-breath, Chekov managed to nod an affirmative. Sulu tugged up the sleeve of Chekov's torn shirt. He touched the tattoo that sprawled over the pale arm.

Sulu exhaled, "We really do match—well sorta."

"Closer," Chekov said, lip swelling and finally catching his breath, "look closer."

Sulu gazed longer at the tattoo and began to turn bright red. Chekov grinned and rolled his hips experimentally. Sulu gasped. "What, uh, what exactly happened last night?"

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" Chekov asked, peering at the flustered man astride him, "Lyubimy Solnyshko*…perhaps we need to refresh what happened, da?"

"Erm, um, well…" Sulu stammered, blushing furiously.

Chekov rolled his hips again and Sulu's face began to turn shades of purple. Now this was going to be fun. Chekov cracked a lopsided grin. "Da. Erm, um, well. Now take me to Bones, I think you split my lip. I will fill you in on the way."

*This is Russian for 'My beloved Sun' (god I hope it is *please be right internet* if it isn't sorry! I'm trying not to butcher the language, really!) Sun is a play off of Sulu's first name, Hikaru, which literally means radiance or light in Japanese. *phew, I am on much more familiar ground now!*

Oh no! It seems that I didn't reveal what was on their arms! Le Gasp! *winks* How did you like the confrontation? Hmmm...what happened between those two last night? And will Spock find the courage to find the Captain? Double Le Gasp!

Here is a preview of what is to come!

"He had woken up like his before. He knew the cause. And his first coherent thought, more like a reflex now, was the burning desire to pin down Jimmy and hypo the shit out of his neck. Or ass. Or other parts of his body that would hurt if he shoved a needle in it. "


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Hey everyone! Thanks for reading and SUPER GREAT BIG HUGS to those who reviewed. They really do make my day! Big shout out to Riyan, thanks for the Russian advice! So very very appreciated!

I am happy to have this up so fast, it might be a bit of a lag until the next update. RL is all up in my business, you know how it goes. Please please please please review! For disclaimer refer to chapter one.

~:~:~

Spock left the bridge without worrying over the dueling men. Logic reasoned that now that the so-called 'blood lust' Sulu marched into the room with was broken, it would not be likely to reoccur. Spock had a mission, and with every moment's delay the ship and her crew shook off the lethargic slumber a night on shove leave produced.

Spock paused in the hallway, rather undecided at whom to see next. He briefly debated if he should see the Captain next, as Chekov suggested, but he discarded that almost immediately. He hadn't collected enough data, and he was loath to face the Captain without being as prepared as possible.

Then again, perhaps the Captain himself drank to excess as well? Spock pondered the thought but decided it was simply was not a risk worth taking. Spock did not care to confront the captain with his faulty memory. If he succumbed to human emotions he would call his reluctance to expose his memory lapse to the Captain for what it was: his pride. Which had been taxed and stressed during two encounters this morning.

Spock shook his head, the action brought forth the headache that he had been developing since his morning meditation. Which had grown exponentially during his rather trying conversation with Chekov.

Spock gritted his teeth. Bones next? Perhaps Uhura? She was an intelligent individual and would have an accurate recollection of the evening, surely reflective of her controlled demeanor on duty. However Chekov was sure that she seemed to consume a profuse amount of alcohol as well.

Spock frowned, kneading his forehead, seeking to relieve some of the pain his headache caused. His foggy brain whirled, producing facts and calculating numbers. Human women, scientifically speaking, had a body mass lower of the average human male. Reasoning dictated that the effects of alcohol would be more distinct and potent in a female versus a male.

And then there was Bones, who was most assuredly male and who often partook in alcoholic beverages. Thus he would have developed a higher tolerance that, logically, would lead to retaining more memory of one's intoxication.

Spock straightened his shirt, readying himself for his confrontation with the doctor. He did not particularly like nor did he care for the doctor's opinion, which was often wrong and full of incoherent ramblings. However he was a first hand account of what happened last night and, Spock being sensible, reasoned it was always best to get accounts from the source.

If he had to wade through the emotional, volatile outbursts that characterized McCoy for the small nuggets of fact then so be it.

Groaning, Spock began to walk. There was another logical reason to as to why he made his way to the sick bay. The Good Doctor could also give him something for his headache, providing if conversing with Bones didn't make it worse. He would not enjoy this encounter.

Bones woke up on the floor, mouth as dry as cotton was white and sporting a headache twice as nasty as a mad hornet. He had woken up like his before. He knew the cause.

And so the first coherent thought, more like a reflex now, was the burning desire to pin down Jimmy and hypo the shirt out of his neck. Or ass. Or other parts of his body that would hurt if he shoved a needle in it. He had a couple of not quite necessary but extremely painful vaccines with Jim's name all over them. He held onto that happy thought and opened his eyes. Blinking blurriness away he focused on his surrounding.

_Goddamnit Jimmy! _ He thought furiously. He was in the middle of his damned sick bay.

Working his jaw, McCoy slowly lifted his pounding head off the ground and moved his arms. They were numb from the awkward position he slept in. That was also when he felt his lab coat, his antique medical lab coat-for it seemed he had somehow put that on last night, slide against his skin. And this time he swore out loud.

His coat was sliding over his _bare-assed naked_ skin. He slowly got to his feet, trying to work his stiff joints while attempting to cover himself. He nursed his aching body as he finally managed to get upright. Damn but he was getting too old for this shit.

Muttering darkly, he gathered his old lab coat around him and made his way to this office, thanking every one of his lucky stars that it was shore leave. Most likely everyone was still sleeping off the booze and partying of the night before. He wasn't always so lucky.

Drinking with Jimmy was always dangerous; if he didn't watch himself he never could be quite sure where he would be come morning. The worse happened a while ago, after a particularly good mission. They had managed to save a damaged ship and all its crew before the engine blew. It wasn't shore leave, and they "technically" could not drink on duty, but it didn't stop Jimmy from waltzing into his office with a bottle of Vodka snitched from Chekov's personal stash.

McCoy had a very hard time saying no to Jimmy on any given day. Saying no to Jimmy and alcohol was impossible. He got completely shot to the moon that night. The next day he woke up under the operation table. Missing his shirt. Covered in what looked like childish doodles of dots, squiggles and other random artwork. Several un-capped permanent markers littered the floor.

After cornering Jim behind Scotty's workbench with a hypo resting menacingly on his throat, Jimmy confessed everything. Apparently, they had tried playing the old earth children's game of Operation. On his body. In his medical bay. It was his nurses who had woken him up, covered in ridiculous renderings of his 'bones', and that was all she wrote.

The rumor-mill on Enterprise went wild and it took a couple of well-placed 'precautionary vaccines' hypoed into the necks of a few crewmembers to curb the snickers. However it wasn't forgotten. And somehow pictures of his half naked, be-doodled form existed.

For his birthday some wise ass had the nerve to leave a copy of the game on his desk. It even came with a picture of him passed out in the medical bay and a little note; which simply read 'Bones' Bones'. He suspected Jim but had no proof.

However, as payback, he did jab a well-timed hypo into Jimmy's leg. He was satisfied when the perfectly harmless side effect of having a massive boner literally reared its head during a meeting with Spock. The 'prank war' was on and they had finally reached a truce a few weeks back.

Oh yes, drinking with James Kirk was dangerous. If the twerp weren't his best friend he would have killed him long ago. Bones shook his head and wrapped his coat around him tighter, best friend or not, he still often wanted to strangle Jim.

_Hell yes, _Bones thought with a flash of anger, _Jim-boy you got some explaining to do_. Did he strip in the middle of the bar? Did anyone else see him get naked? Growling in frustration, he tried to piece together the events of the previous night. As he reached his door he felt weight in the coat hitting his legs. Something was in his pocket.

Distracted from his thoughts Bones slid his hand into his left pocket and pulled out a stethoscope. The hell? Why was his favorite antique medical instrument in his pocket? Curious, he reached one hand into the right pocket, as his other hand punched his code into his office door. He pulled out a frilly red bra and managed to crack a crooked grin.

"Well, well, old boy, what the hell happened last night and did I like it?" Bones asked himself. If he got naked and had a bra stuffed in his pockets, he must had a great time. Probably. Damned shame he couldn't really remember it. Or her. The question begged though, what did his crewmembers see? He planed on hunting down Jimmy after he got some meds for his aching joints.

McCoy leaned into his door and opened it. Pain radiated from his upper arm. He frowned, rubbing the tender spot and looked over to his desk where he had some painkillers. He stopped so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitoshitohshit," McCoy croaked, eyes riveted to his desk. He slowly backed out of his office, but it was too late. The harsh light from the medical bay shone through the door and caused the nude person draped on top of McCoy's desk to stir.

Bones froze just outside the door. The person shifted and a nurse's hat fluttered to the floor, followed by a lilting voice roughened by sleep, "Lights off Galla." Bones closed the door with shaking hands.

Then he ran. His coat billowed open, exposing his 'mini McCoy' to the world. He didn't care. His head thundered like the devil and his body protested every step. He couldn't give a damn. He was on a mission to kill the Captain of the good ship USS Enterprise or die trying. With who was lying on his desk, he figured he was a dead man walking anyway.

There was no way in hell he would he go unpunished when she woke up.

~:~:~

hmmm...wonder who 'she' is? I love to meddle with Bones, he is so much fun to tease! If you have any Bones-ish sayings let me know ok! Hope you enjoyed his antics! So Review and let me know what you think!

Preview for next time! *He found his mouth twitching, a smile tucked into the corners. Spock calmly walked over to the bathroom door. "It seems," he said in a rather amused voice, "that you found the acquirement."*


	8. Chapter 8

**A?/N: **Sorry for the long, long, long break. It was totally unexpected and I will try not to do that again. I had this all ready to upload and RL came, in all its bitter fury, and consumed me. Or so it felt like. Anyway, sorry for the delay. I have the next section written, just needs to be edited and then I can update again. I do so very much love reviews, please let me know what you like and didn't like! Oh and Happy Belated Valentine's Day! Oh and anyone watching Big Bang? I am having fun catching up on season 4.

Star Trek and its characters aren't mine, wish they were but they aren't. Story and plot twists are all mine though. Its short this time, but I promise to update tomorrow!

McCoy flew out of the sickbay doors, slamming right into Spock. There was no time to avoid the collusion and they both went down.

All the shock and anger boiled over and Bones exploded. "Goddamit you yella-bellied, pig-sticking hobgoblin! Watch where you are going damn it!" he hollered, struggling to cover himself and get off the floor at the same time. "I am not in the mood to treat your Vulcan ass!"

Spock untangled himself quickly and his cool voice replied, "Doctor it was you who was running, and obviously not paying attention. As you may be aware, if you read the Starfleet rulebook, running when not in emergency in the corridors is against rule 256 section IV sub paragraph G."

Spock gave the doctor a glance over before continuing, "I am not a pig-sticker, as I am a vegetarian, if you could remember such a complex word, and killing animals is regarded as vulgar and un-ethical to Vulcan culture. Aspects of my society that even a young human child would know. I am also not yellow-bellied, as any competent physician would most assuredly be aware that my skin tone has a green tint, which is not limited to the stomach area."

While talking, Spock gracefully stood and dusted himself off. Bones managed to stand up as Spock finished with, "I am here due to the events from last night's outing. However I can see you are neither composed nor dressed. My estimation that you would remember thing from last night was clearly off."

Bones smartly fired back, not phased at Spock's harsh set down. "I certainly remember more than you; you make a lousy drunk. And those are idioms, you over-analyzing nitwit. But enough about that, we are, um….loud and stuff, we could, um, move."

Spock quirked an eyebrow as Bones eyed his medical bay with what only can be described as panic. Spock became interested despite himself. 82.4% of the time when Spock pointed out the gaping holes in McCoy's logic, a debate longer than five minutes would ensue. The remaining 17.6% cases fell below the five minute mark; with 12.8% seeing the argument quickly ending due to outside intervention, such as the Captain or perhaps Scotty. 3.5% of the time a medical emergency that required MCoy's full concentration occurred, rendering debate impossible and distraction dangerous. While .8% of the time the Doctor became, by some means, unconscious after conversing with Spock. Spock reflected that this particular incident would alter his previous calculations, and he made a note to further study McCoy's behavioral patterns.

Spock coughed slightly and asked, "To where to you suggest we adjourn to? Perhaps your office would be sufficient?"

Bones paled at the mention of his office. Spock's curiosity beforehand at Bones' peculiar behavior became instantly sharpened. However he felt that bickering with Bones was a waste of time when he might go to another, much more willing, resource. "No matter, it does not signify. I shall find and discuss last night's matters with Uhura, as her logic surely—"

Bones interrupted him. "Wait Spock, why you looking for Uhura? I mean she is sleeping, uh," Bones babbled onward, "I mean most likely is sleeping. Yeah, I'm sure she is just sleeping, you should let her sleep. A lady needs her sleep. Like a bear women are when they wake up. I have a daughter I should know, I think."

Bones cast a wayward glance at his medical bay as he prattled on, grabbing Spock's arm, "Yeah! I bet she is tired after, uh, last night's activities! You know, the drinking, the clubs? Remember?" He began tugging on Spock's arm attempting to remove him from the vicinity of his medical bay. "Oh with what you drank, I bet your memory is hazy! Oh yeah! I'm right as rain, aren't I? Let me just fill you in…"

There were rare instances that the doctor had sound logic, however misguided, crippled, or stunted his reasoning normally seemed. Although Spock would rather converse with Uhura, he had not considered Uhura's physical stamina. The possibility that she was still recovering from the after-effects from last night was indeed just that, a possibility.

Spock nodded slowly in agreement, accepting the Doctor's argument and acknowledging the fact he had not taken into account potential exhaustion. His failure to anticipate that possible fact only proved how distressed he was.

However, Bones's sudden insight did not explain how agitated he became at the mention of Uhura's name. A curiosity he would have to explore later. Spock turned to Bones. "If you have a moment I would like to discuss last night's activities, in particular the incident at the pier."

Bones nodded absently and picked up the pace towards his quarters, wrangling Spock down the hall along side him. His acute relief at leaving his medical bay rather deafened him to what Spock was saying. "Yea, sure the pier, what 'bout it?"

Spock glanced at Bones, "I am of course referring to the acquirements we all made."

Bones nodded absent-mindedly as he opened the door to his quarters. "Uh-huh, sure I remember it. Something we did together, right? Round of shots, right? Hope you are not asking me what we drank cause I sure as hell can't remember every damned shot."

Spock let the door shut behind him as McCoy headed to his closet. He said nothing. Apparently the doctor was distressed over something to do with Uhura but did not have to do with the tattoo. In fact, Spock believed the doctor was not even aware of the tattoos.

As Bones gathered clothes and dashed into the bathroom, Spock carefully reviewed what McCoy had said outside of the medical bay. Something in his bay, no…his office, made him run. Something about Uhura-familiar with Bones's limited ability to reason, Spock surmised McCoy must have been thinking about her rather intensely if he actually had a logical point to make regarding her welfare. McCoy was a competent human in many aspects, but logic was not one of them.

The probable answer dawned on Spock. There was an 79.42% chance he was correct. Stunned, Spock wasn't quite sure what to make of his conclusion when the screaming began. McCoy's curses filled the air and Spock finally comprehended the reason for Chekov's humor this morning; although he did not appreciate it leveled at him. He found his mouth twitching, a smile tucked into the corners.

Spock calmly walked over to the bathroom door. "It seems," he said in a rather amused voice, "that you found the acquirement."

Poor Bones, Spock really doesn't think highly of him, does he? But I think he secretly enjoys the bickering. Sorry for all you Bones fans out there, I keep picking on him . Annnnndddd anyone guess what the 'probable answer' was? Oh and here is the teaser for the next time.

"It was a dare that only the Captain routinely accepted, as a nip of liquor wasn't worth the wrath of McCoy. Sulu entered the room waving Chekov to follow."

That's right, bouncing back to Sulu and Chekov. What's in the room, does Chekov fix his split lip, will Sulu steal Bones's liquor? Find out next time on*dun da dun dunnnnn* Spock's Night Out


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** So yeah, I this isn't as long as I thought it was . Although the whole thing is the longest thing I have ever written. My co-worker peered over while I was writing and asked what I was doing. I tried to explain the mythical, mystical, magical world of fanfiction, but I think I lost him. Good thing he can't read English as it was rather a steamy part. Oh the joys of living in a foreign culture. Anywho, bad news folks, it might be a while before I update, I have to type up some more from the 'almighty plot book' (which is really a notebook I hand write the story in) and it always take a bit to transfer. One written page equals four typed ones. Reviews help though! Boy do they ever... So please review!

**A/N: **Ok, so I went back and edited this a bit.

As I said before, Star Trek isn't mine.

And enter Uhura. I think Chekov and Sulu are darling, and other than Spock/Kirk, a favorite pair to write. Although Bones is so much fun to tease. What do you think Uhura will do? What do you think is on her tattoo? Any suggestions? Here is the teaser, though, for next time:

"She saw the crumbled nurses uniform in the corner and fingered the flattened nurses hat that she had landed on. Two and two equals four. Ok, alright. She could handle this."

While Spock was calmly observing the Doctor's hysterics, Sulu and Chekov entered the medical bay.

"Hey Bones! Ya here?" Sulu called out, while he sat a bloody Chekov on a stool. Sulu began heading to a cupboard on the look out for a first aid kit. He didn't really expect the doctor to be there. Normally after a night of shore-side drinking McCoy would sleep off his hangover until noon. Or later.

Not that Bones was unprofessional or anything, but because it was shore leave, unless it was a medical or a Kirk emergency, it was the doctors only time to really relax. As such, it was a luxury that Bones fiercely coveted and it was better to leave the doctor undisturbed until he emerged on his own. No one really wanted to wake up a pissed off McCoy to treat a minor injury unless they had a death wish and really liked pain.

Although Sulu did note that it was unusual that no nurses were present. Even if it was shore leave he would have expected at least one to be on duty, but then again, it was still early in the morning shift. There had only been a few ensigns who managed to recover enough to actually attempt to work. Sulu, shrugged, not that their was much work to do today anyway. Most of them were probably watching vids from the night before.

The thought struck Sulu and he glared back a bit at the battered Russian slouching on the stool. He had only been told one story on the way down to the medical bay and something Chekov had said, in retrospect, was off. Way off.

Suddenly suspicious, Sulu opened a cabinet and asked Chekov, "So, you remember a lot about last night, even crazy details, like how I sang karaoke from Uhura's _open-toed pink stiletto _shoe. Is your memory really that good?"

Chekov snorted and muttered, "Da, it is really good."

Sulu rummaged through a cabinet and began to talk, "You know, the reason I ask is because it shocks me that you can remember the exact style of a woman's shoe." Sulu found the kit and whirled on Chekov, who had been preening slightly. As immensely fond Sulu was of the little genius, the smug look was a rather unpleasant sight as Chekov's spilt lip had swollen to enormous proportions.

He walked toward to Chekov and continued talking. "A shoe. I have seen you show up to shift wearing a brown boot and a black boot. I am sure your memory is good," Sulu slammed down the kit on the counter next to Chekov and leaned over him, "But not THAT good. How many did you make?"

Chekov adopted an innocent expression. "You are noticing my cwlothes? Sulu dat is too sweet."

"Its hard not to notice when you are wearing one black boot and another boot the color of mud. And that isn't the point, Pavel, and you know it isn't. How many vids?"

Chekov began to look a bit embarrassed but continued anyway, "For your informashion, it was not aw muddy boot. It is more wof a coffee color and—"

Sulu's silent gaze halted Chekov's words and he sighed. "Da, I will take care wof it."

"Thank you," Sulu murmured and opened the kit. "It means a lot. I don't know how, but those damned things always get out. I hate being made fun of for something I can't even remember doing."

Chekov looked down at his hands quietly, "I did not know this was such a thwing to upset you." Sulu pressed his handkerchief gently to Chekov's face, wiping a bit of blood away.

"Well, they do, but you will erase them right? I highly doubt we will ever forget last night," Sulu said, is free hand resting on Chekov's arm, lingering over the tattoo, "This probably wasn't the smartest idea to let me know that you liked me back."

Chekov raised his head and met Sulu's eyes. He ran his fingers along the front of Sulu's shirt, fisting a bit of the fabric and tugged the pilot closer. Sulu's hitched his breath, seeming to drown in Chekov's gaze. He never could get used the brilliance of Chekov's eyes; a slate blue with flecks of gold sprinkled throughout. Sulu watched a ghost of a grin fleet across Chekov's face.

"Same thing is said about your sword attack. Not that I am minding you attacking me with other swords," Chekov slid his hands to the back of Sulu's shirt and whispered, "Da, I am not minding swords a bit, darogoi*…" Sulu's mouth went dry and he shivered as he watched Chekov's eyes glitter with the rising tension between them.

"You can't blame me, tattoos are serious things. I am not sorry about chasing you, not yet anyway," Sulu muttered, rouge hand still tracing Chekov's new tattoo. "What is a darogoi?"

"I forgive for da attack, I know sometimes you have temper. And I will erase all the vids. But darogoi is a secret. I need to teach you Russian, so you will understand me when I forget standard," Chekov said, his voice became rough as he clenched Sulu's shirt. "You know Russian is a very romantic language, Russians invented the karma sutra and we can—" Sulu's body seemed to jerk on his own, his face flushed red, much to the amusement of Chekov. Unfortunately, along with his body, Sulu's hand that had been tracing Chekov's face jerked as well and made Chekov wince in pain.

Spell broken, Chekov couldn't help the small unhappy noise as Sulu untangled himself from their embrace. Sulu paused and leaned over to Chekov's ear to whisper, "Later." Tweaking a disgruntled Chekov's ear, Sulu handed the handkerchief over and retreated to the first aid kit. Sulu strove to collect his wits and focused on the contents of the kit. Right. What did Chekov need for his face.

Frowning, Sulu pawed through the first aid kit. Odd. "Hmmm," Sulu murmured before handing the kit to Chekov and going back to the cupboards.

"Why da frown, darogoi?*" Chekov said wincing, one hand holding the kit and the other held Sulu's handkerchief pressed to his lip.

"There are no bandages." Sulu replied, shutting the cabinet door before returning to Chekov. "I have some no-pain spray and some of that skin-it-heal-it stuff. But its weird…" Sulu trailed off as he took the kit and gave the two bottles to a happier Chekov.

Sulu set the kit on a counter before he made his way to Bones' office. Chekov, humor restored at the impeding relief, opened up a can one-handed muttering, "Is it so weird about da bandages? Weally? Dis is Bones. Maybe he put them somewhere else. Or da nurses."

"I find it odd. It's unlike Bones to forget to put such a basic first aid item near the actual first aid kit. He is usually so prepared about that kind of stuff. Even more so for shore leave since he doesn't want to be disturbed for little stuff like that." Sulu called back as he reached the office door. Chekov grunted an uninterested reply as he applied the skin-it-heal-it to his face.

"I'm gonna check in his office, I know he has a second kit in there." Chekov's sigh of relief signaled that he had just used the no-pain spray. Sulu grinned a bit at the sound, and then punched in the code to McCoy's office.

The code was the best-kept secret on the ship. Nearly everyone knew the office code, which was 12345, and it was often a dare among the ship's crew to steal into the office to try to find Bones's whiskey stash. It was a dare that only the Captain routinely accepted, as most of the saner crewmates believed a nip of liquor wasn't worth the wrath of McCoy. Sulu entered the room waving Chekov to follow.

Chekov hopped off the stool and headed into the office. And promptly ran into Sulu's frozen form. "You would be needing to tell a person when you are stopping fast." Chekov grumbled into Sulu's back and peered around him. "Oh, da. So I see."

Lying on the desk, gloriously naked, except for patches of white gaze and strips of bandages, was the resident xeno-linguist extraordinaire, Lt. Uhura. She moved at the sound of Chekov's voice and both men knew that it was only a few moments before she fully woke up. Sulu gulped back his shock at having to greet a naked, most likely pissed off Uhura when Chekov suddenly turned to Sulu, a grin spreading across his face.

"Eh, Sulu! _There_ is da missing bandages, eh? We found them!" Sulu couldn't help it; he let out a burst of surprised laughter.

**A/N:**

Ok, so I edited this, I have been reading/researching a lot about Star Trek lately so I am going to try and work in some more cannon stuff... any comments, suggestions, advice would be appreciated!

*darogoi is yet another attempt at Russian, to my peeps who can speak it and its work, blame google as I know nada about Russian.

Ok and for the teaser:

"She saw the crumbled nurses uniform in the corner and fingered the nurses' hat that she had landed on. Two and two equals four. Alright. She could handle this "


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **So I expected it to be a while before I updated, I just wasn't expecting it to be this long. You may or may not know, (for anyone who has dropped by my profile) but I live in Northern Japan, and besides the normal upheaval of March (school year changes) we also had a devastating natural disaster last month. You all probably know what I am talking about. Needless to say, I have been otherwise occupied. And so, my dear readers, it took me longer to regain my writing rhythm, along with motivation to procure a new chapter. I do hope you enjoy it, its shamefully short, but I promise to had more out as soon as I can. I also went back and edited chapter 9, I have been doing research and will try to adhere to cannon more. Uhura is perhaps been, for me at least, the hardest character to write. Any tips, advice, comments and suggestions are much appreciated. So please please review! They make my day!

I do not-wait! Let me check my mirror! Drat, still not anyone who remotely owns Star Trek. I am just playing with them, I will give them back later.

Uhura struggled all her life to live beyond expectations. She aimed high, and slaved to not only reach her goal but also exceed it. Her ambitions were the stuff of legend; and she worked hard for her well-earned reputation at being better than the best. And if her reputation at being at the top accompanied a reputation of a snobbish and cold bitch, she could deal. She was the best damn xeno-linguist starfleet had ever seen. She could and did live with the jealous quips of the less dedicated.

She never let on that she was a bit lonely, and she would kill before she told anyone she still smarted from her breakup with Spock, even though she was the one that ended it. Nor would anyone ever know that she missed her best friend Galla fiercely and wept regularly for her. She wanted control; over her life and her career, and she prided herself in achieving that elusive goal.

It was, in retrospect, the main reason she was drawn to Spock, and it was the realization of it that promoted her to end their relationship. She was in love with his control, and it was wrong to base a romantic relationship around that fact. Nyota Uhura was, deep down, a romantic at heart; an aspect she struggled to hide.

So when she woke up to laughter, in an unknown place, body aching from the hard, unfamiliar surface she lay on, she was more than a little disoriented. More than a little distressed. She felt something she rarely admitted to experiencing, panic. Without thinking, Uhura screamed, sharply moved and promptly fell to the ground.

The jarring impact snapped her to her senses and she stopped screaming. She never really was the screaming type anyway. She also noticed the laughter abruptly stopped as well. She blinked, reigning in her emotions and began to notice other things. Like the fact she actually knew where she was. Not that knowing she was in Bones' office made her any less knowledgeable as to why she was here. That is until Uhura noticed her current state of undress and felt the telltale aches in her body. She wasn't dumb and if two plus two equaled four, then this was the answer she had to deal with.

Uhura ran her fingers through to hair, drudging up vague memories of last night. Although hazy, she remembered that she had been more than willing. A moment of astonishment blanked her mind again- her and Bones? What the hell was in the liquor last night?

A patient robe fluttered over from the other side of Bones's desk. Ahh, yes-the laughing person, an unknown variable in what should be a clean equation. Uhura quickly grabbed the robe, mind dragging up every fuzzy memory of every voice she knew to try and figure out who it was on the other side of the desk. She needed had bothered as the voice spoke.

"Uhura? Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?" Sulu called out sheepishly, "I'm sorry I laughed, Chekov said we found the bandages and I got silly with the nerves. Its just us two."

Uhura looked down at her self, noting the bandages covering various parts of her body. She ripped one off but the skin appeared fine. She poked and prodded the area—felt ok. She saw the crumbled nurses uniform in the corner and fingered the nurses' hat that she had landed on. Two and two equals four. Alright. She could handle this. She moved into a sitting position and then she felt pain flare up from her hip to her shoulder.

"No. Really. I am not ok," Uhura responded, tossing on the robe. She rose from the ground, wincing a bit before smoothing her face into a semblance of her normal composed self. "But I will be."

She rubbed her thigh and looked at Sulu, standing nervously near the door, gazing politely at the ground. Chekov on the other hand, had settled in a chair and was staring at her, handkerchief still pressed against his mouth. Uhura leveled a cool glance at him. "But then, it looks like I am not the only one who isn't ok."

She walked around the desk to face them, cocking her eyebrow in an eerie likeness of Spock. It was a habit she had worked on in the mirror for months, not that anyone but Galla ever knew that. Be cool, Uhura told herself, be calm. She analyzed the two men before her.

Chekov tried to grin at her, the result was a macabre smile, swollen and twisted with pain. It didn't last long. "I need more no-pain spray. Sulu, you spray me, da?" Chekov said, waving Sulu over. Uhura watched as Sulu misted a layer on the worst of the injury. The blood flow had stopped and the swelling was decreasing slightly. Chekov looked pointedly at Uhura's bandages.

"If you are not really injured, might I be having some of those, please?"

"If you tell me what is going on. You were with me last night and I want answers. What the hell happened, how did I get here and where is Bones" _So I can kill him _she silently added. She glanced at Chekov's face, "I get why you are here, and I am not even going to ask. Just give me the details about last night…" She trailed off expectantly looking at Chekov.

Sulu answered instead, "Well if it has to do with last night, I don't remember anything." Uhura sighed; Sulu's intolerance for alcohol was famous. "Sorry, I wasn't exactly talking to you," she looked pointedly at Chekov. "Bandage first," he quipped. Shrugging, Uhura tore off a length and tossed it him. As the worst of his injury was being wrapped, she turned to her aches. She really didn't want an injured body interfering if she needed to hunt, perhaps literally, Bones down.

She prodded her hip, bruised but nothing serious. Uhura turned to her arm and peeled the strip covering the worse of the pain. The pain increased as she ripped the tape off. She tossed the wrapping aside and Sulu walked over to scavenge it. Uhura looked down at her arm and gasped, the panic she had been holding at bay swarmed her again. She felt faint as she gazed at the tattoo sprawled over her skin.

Sulu's jaw dropped, "No fucking way, he got you too!"

**A/N:**

Sorry its short! I am finishing the next part. I don't have a beta, so I try to go slowly so as to not make so many mistakes. Also, I need help~any people know if Uhura knows Klingon? Cause next chapter I am taking liberties under the assumption that she does. . Here is the teaser!

'He walked around the shaking woman and muttered to Sulu, "Dis, dis is why I do not date women. They are so….so..._scary_, da?"'


End file.
